


Between Friends

by lyndysambora



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyndysambora/pseuds/lyndysambora
Summary: It was the blanket that was moving, and Jon smiled inside himself, though his face was still too full of sleep to move. Richie was jerking off under there, trying to be secret about it... The thought prickled the space between Jon’s legs.





	Between Friends

Jon could feel the agitation radiating off Richie before he even opened his eyes.

Maybe agitation wasn’t exactly the right word. Nervousness? Not that, either. A definite vibration of some kind. 

A bump in the road had lurched Jon almost fully awake, and while his eyes were still closed, his mind was rising rapidly toward the surface of consciousness. He remembered that Richie was in the seat next to him, the window seat. And he knew that Richie was awake and... moving?

Jon opened his eyes a sliver. With his head rolled down against his shoulder as it was, the sight that greeted him was the blanket draped across his friend’s body, and the passing highway lights flashing over both their laps. It was the blanket that was moving, and Jon smiled inside himself, though his face was still too full of sleep to move. Richie was jerking off under there, trying to be secret about it. Jon wondered if the other man had done it on a whim, or if he had tried to distract himself for awhile before giving in. Being in the window seat, he couldn’t easily get away from Jon without drawing attention to himself. The poor bastard had been stuck there with his horniness until it got the better of him.

The thought prickled the space between Jon’s legs. He was aware enough to know if he wasn’t half asleep, it wouldn’t have affected him that way, that he probably would have ignored it, or made a joke. But his mind was still dreaming and loose, and the prickling felt so good.

He shifted in his seat, turned himself sideways, facing Richie, snuggled into the backrest. The movement of the blanket ceased instantly, and this time Jon wrestled a real smile into submission. His eyes were still barely open, not enough for Richie to see, and Jon allowed his body to relax, pretended to sleep again. He thought he could hear the man’s held breath escape in a jittery exhale, but it might have been his imagination. It took a minute or two, but the movement of the blanket finally resumed.

Jon’s own breath caught in his chest like an overinflated balloon, and he had to fight the urge to giggle nervously. It was stupid and he knew it, but god, the depth of the darkness, the anonymity of it, pierced by the knowing flicker of lights.

The flicker of his heart now, almost as fast, maybe faster--

He slid his hand from where it rested on his own thigh, through the gully of shadows between them, and found the edge of the blanket. Richie was still unaware there had been any movement other than his own, and when Jon moved fully up under the covering, he found bare thigh-- his friend’s pants were pulled halfway to his knees. Richie’s gasp sounded like a hiss, and he jumped sideways toward the window, clutching his legs closed.

“Stop--” he whispered, and Jon could tell from his tone that he thought Jon was fucking with him. A cruel joke to teach him a lesson about his actions.

“Shh,” Jon said, and ran his palm over the top of that now-rigid thigh, letting his fingertips slide into the crevice between both legs, where the muscles were so tense they were shivering. 

Richie pressed a hand on top of Jon’s, but didn’t attempt to stop it. The prickling in Jon’s crotch pulsed into a wave of warmth. He probably _should_ have stopped it. Or maybe he shouldn’t have. Jon lost track of the thread of thought about the ramifications of his actions. His friend’s thighs had spread open, just a little, just enough to allow his hand to slip up between them and brush the velvet skin of his balls. 

A small sound, something between pleasure and fear, slipped from Richie’s throat. The breath swelled in Jon’s chest again. He allowed a single finger to skim up the underside of the man’s cock, the heat of it taking him slightly by surprise. 

This time, Richie did land a hand on Jon’s wrist, halting his actions. “What are you doing?” he hissed. 

Jon continued stroking with the lone finger, up the few inches he could reach with his wrist pinned in place as it was. “Helping out,” he whispered, and when Richie started to shove at his hand, he realized his answer had sounded sarcastic, like it _was_ a huge joke to him. He almost let his friend push him away, figured he could explain in the morning when they could retreat to somewhere more private and talk out loud, but he realized he still wouldn’t know what to say.

_Yeah, I know we’re just friends and all, but I woke up and got a hard-on cuz you were jerking off and I wanted to get a piece of that action. See? Normalest shit in the world_

So he held fast to the territory he’d claimed, and murmured, “We’ll pretend it never happened, okay?”

He thought he felt the tiniest give in Richie’s grip, but he wasn’t sure, and his hand was still too restrained to move, so he said, “I promise.”

Richie’s chest rose and fell sharply with the intake of his breath, and the fear Jon could still feel in him. Finally, without letting loose the constraint of his fist, he whispered, “Don’t hurt me.”

The request had nothing to do with physical pain, and Jon knew it immediately. 

“I won’t,” he said.

Richie eased his hand and let it trail up Jon’s forearm, pressing his fingers into the bend of the other man’s elbow. Lighter this time. A reminder. 

His dick had softened a little in the interim of their tug-of-war, and it was dry. Jon figured, trapped in his seat as he was, he’d had nothing to lubricate with, besides maybe saliva, which had long since disappeared. A thrill like electric vibrated up through Jon’s insides, into his chest, as he caressed the tender skin, felt the twitch of new blood pulsing into it beneath his touch. An urge rose in him to whisper things into the darkness, feverish commands and confessions of what Richie’s excitement was doing to his own body, but the words stopped at his lips. It was too intimate, too soon, more so than the touch. So he remained silent, and felt out all the secret turns and curves of flesh while the other man attempted to keep his breathing calm. Or at least quiet. 

Jon withdrew his hand from beneath the blanket and licked his fingers. The taste of Richie was on them, faint but there, and Jon prodded his own crotch with his free hand. He didn’t know if Richie could see what he was doing, and he was shocked to realize he didn’t much care. The thought of the other man knowing what he was doing to himself lit him up even more, and he spread his knees wider while he finished wetting his fingers. His mouth was watering like crazy, so there was plenty to go around now. 

Richie lifted the blanket to allow Jon’s hand back in, and Jon knew his friend must have seen that his other hand was otherwise occupied. He wrestled a groan back down into his throat and found Richie’s cock again, squeezing the head of it with slickened fingertips. Richie pushed out against the pressure of Jon’s hand, again and again, until they were both bucking in a quiet, innately understood rhythm. 

The flutter of highway lights illuminated Richie’s hand crawling over Jon’s thigh, and Jon forgot to breathe for a moment while the other man bumped his self-pleasuring hand out of the way and enveloped his crotch like he owned it, pushing and rubbing into it without mercy. The groan that threatened inside Jon’s throat slipped out, and he hoped it sounded like sleep noises to anyone else who might have been awake, and he also didn’t care about that, either. The recklessness of it was like fire in his cock, and his hand sped up on Richie’s dick, rubbing him almost dry, and he could feel the other man starting to shrink a little from his touch, shudder from it in a way that wasn’t purely pleasure, but he was still bucking in between the shrinking away.

The words came out before Jon could reconsider them. “Give it to me,” he whispered.

Richie’s free hand flew to his mouth, and he turned his face toward the window. Jon felt a wave of burning liquid flow against the blanket and over his fingers. For a few seconds, he thought he, himself, was gonna blow too, his mind reeling with the idea that Richie had probably come because of the thing Jon had spoken, that he would never speak of again, per their agreement. 

Unless Richie wanted to. It was a possibility.

His friend was using the blanket to wipe himself off with, and Jon took a corner of it to wipe his hand. Richie wadded the blanket up and stuffed it down beside his feet. He was already zipped up and covered. The sounds of gentle snoring surrounded them, mingling with road noise, subdued at this time of night. There was no evidence of what had transpired between them, except for the lingering stickiness of Jon’s hand, and the unsated hard-on in his pants. Maybe he’d take care of that himself after Richie fell asleep, which probably wouldn’t be long now. A little zap went through him at the thought of licking his fingers again, and knowing what that stickiness tasted like. 

Richie shifted sideways in his seat, facing Jon, and though Jon couldn’t read his expression, he sensed the man wanted to say something. But Richie was silent. Instead, he reached up and touched the side of Jon’s face, as though confirming he was solid and _there_ and not part of some lucid dream. The touch lasted so long that Jon opened his mouth to speak, but Richie pressed his fingertips over his lips, and Jon closed them again. 

So they wouldn’t speak of it. 

Richie lowered his hand and slid it up Jon’s thigh again, seeking out the hardness in the middle. 

Then again...

**END**


End file.
